Here I am Again
by Michelle Birkby
Summary: Set during the Fourth season, musings of Jack. Complete


Here I am again, strolling down the corridor, hands rammed in my pockets, going to see Sam to get her solution to whatever problem we've got this time. It's always the same.   
  
"Sam, here's the problem. Solve it." I say, and she merely smiles, (or sometimes glares) sits down, and does it. It amazes me. Not only that that amazing, wonderful, incomprehensible mind of hers can do it, but that she does it at all. If someone dumped all their problems on me, and expected me to just come up with a brilliant and original solution, I'd be annoyed.   
  
Annoyed and very very pissed off. Swearing would happen.   
  
But not her. And I'm immensely grateful for that. I wonder if she knows how I feel about the fact that she has pulled my butt out of the fire more times than I can remember? I very rarely say thank you. I very rarely say anything other than 'Huh?' when she explains something to me, but I'm grateful all the same. I think she knows. I hope she knows. It's there, in that secretive little smile she gives me right after I agree to do whatever she's said I have to do to fix things. Yeah, she knows I'm grateful alright.   
  
I can feel myself grin at the thought of her as I swing round the corner. How will I find her this time? With Janet or Daniel, intensely discussing something I have no hope of understanding? Asleep again, having worked flat out while I slept and rested? I never realised that when I said to her 'do this, solve that', she didn't stop until she'd done it. It's got to the point where I have to order her to rest before she does serious damage to herself. I told Jacob I'd look after her, and I will. I just didn't realise that she needed so much looking after. I don't mind. It's a pleasure to feel needed again.   
  
Or maybe she'll be despondent, down and depressed because she hasn't solved it yet. I can't make her understand that that doesn't matter, she's allowed to fail sometimes, but she can't see that. The motto 'failure is not an option' might have been invented for her. She's so determined to succeed that one of these days she's going to kill herself trying if I don't keep a careful eye on her...which I will.   
  
Or maybe it'll be the best option of all. I'll walk in, and she'll turn to me, eyes glowing, cheeks flushed with the thrill of success, and announce, without the slightest bit of gloating, or even pride in herself, that she's done it. She's solved it. I've set her an impossible task and she's done it again. I love her most when she's like that. Once or twice I've tried to praise her for the work she does, but she blushes, and hides away, and deprecates herself, so I just accept her brilliance like it's a normal everyday thing.   
  
Almost there. I stuff my hands in my pocket to hide the slight trembling I get when I'm near her. I walk to the open door, and stand there, silently, for a moment.   
  
She's bent over her notes, writing quickly in a pad. She's so intent, I'd doubt she'd hear me if I yelled, but I don't. I want to treasure this moment, before our hectic lives resume their frantic pace.   
  
There's only a little light, and it shines through her hair, framing her face like a halo. Her eyes are dark in this light, and they flick back and forth, totally absorbed in her task. She frowns slightly, bites her lip, then her her expression clears, and she starts to smile. The smile spreads.   
She writes faster, eager to get the new thought down on paper. She sits up straighter, as inspiration strikes.   
  
"Of course!" she murmurs, in her quiet voice.   
  
"Carter?" I ask her. She turns suddenly, and as she sees me, her face lights up. For one moment I allow myself the luxury of thinking its pleasure at seeing me, but as she talks, I realise its pleasure in handing me the solution.   
  
"We can fix it, Sir!" she announces. I nod, motioning her past me, off to save the world - or someone's world - again.   
  
"Knew I could rely on you." I say softly as she goes by, but I don't think she heard.   
  
So here I am again, trailing after my brilliant, exceptional second-in-command, as she tells us all what to do. We all of us, including me, her commanding officer, follow her orders without question, knowing she is right. And of course, she is. She smiles at me, as it all works out, and I smile back, a genuine, warm smile of thanks, and for that one brief minute, she acknowledges my meaning.   
  
Then she goes home. And here I am again. Alone.   
  
THE END 


End file.
